Prestidigitation
by Ziven
Summary: [AU] In Endymion's Citadel, all potential magic users are being trained to fight in a war that has not yet happened. With the prophecy of dark days looming ahead, the Dark Magician struggles to find balance and motivation. -Onyxshpping, Dark Magician x Magician of Black Chaos- for the YGO fanfiction contest


**Pairing:** Onyxshipping (Dark Magician x Black Magician of Chaos)

 **Summary/Premise:** [AU]In Endymion's Citadel, all potential magic users are being trained to fight in a war that has not yet happened. With the prophecy of dark days looming ahead, the Dark Magician struggles to find balance and motivation.

 **Continuity:** AHA. Right. That thing isn't happening in this one. There are a few scattered homages to the Dawn of the Duel/Millennium World arcs, but it's just a few lines. Nothing big.

 **Notes:** Uhh, what to say about this? I'm not really sure, honestly. Well, it's important to note that these deal with the Cards-as-characters, not anything related to the source material itself. I did try to work in other cards as points of familiarity, because I mean - we're going cards we might as well go as far as possible. Either way, I felt weird about this entry. Let me know what you think when you finish!

 **Warnings:** Nope, none of those here.

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"No, no, no!" The Master shouted. "That's wrong. Awful! Just what do you think you're doing with your hands?"

The voice echoed throughout the empty chamber that they were practicing in, bouncing against stone and back into the air between them. On one end was the greatest magic-user in the realm, clad in flowing purple robes and an ornate cape befitting one of his stature. The man's large, iconic staff was left standing behind him, upright on its own; it was unnecessary for the current exercise.

Hand outstretched, beams a light poured from his fingertips, aiming for a target - a young man in similar but less ornate robes. The younger apprentice was attempting to shield himself, water pooling in front of him, swirling mid-air to form a shield. Part of it was freezing; slowly turning to ice, and blue arms outstretched, bending and moving into shapes they spurned the shield to persist.

But it wasn't freezing quite fast enough, and the barrage of light quickly made its way through both liquid and frost. Though the beams struck their mark, they did not harm him. The exercise was over.

"I don't know how you're supposed to pass your exams with that sort of flailing! That is _not_ a rune." A sigh passed between The Master's lips, and that was what really hurt - the genuine disappointment. "This is not a befitting performance from the man that will become the Dark Magician!"

Endymion, the Divine Magical King, tutted and looked down before glancing about. His eyes alighted on a shadow near the door, another magician-in-training, before shaking his head.

"I've had as much as I can take from the two of you today. You _must_ get better. The prophecy wouldn't have chosen you otherwise. Practice until your limbs ache, and then practice more. Focus! Your mind must ache, as well." The elder whisked past both of them and didn't look back before exiting.

The man near the door stepped forward, wild black hair flowing behind him. Pale, blue hands outstretched themselves, extending. "I think you did well." The voice was deep, otherworldly. It was layered, like four speaking at once in perfect time and harmony, and even in calm tones it was irksome at best. "He was just being hard on you. You _are_ the Dark Magician. Don't let him tell you any different."

"Don't call me that." He did not like being reminded of his destiny, or the fact that it had overridden his life. Long ago, he had been nothing but a boy born in Endymion's Citadel, a mere citizen. He'd had a name, one that his parents had given him. Until he'd been seized to live in the palace, to train, he had a normal life.

The two of them were not the same. The Magician of Chaos had been born into his legacy - The Master had known he was coming before his birth, had prepared for him; liked him more than some farm boy shown to be possessed of the gift.

"Mahaad." The four-voices-as-one all sounded regretful. "You know what is at stake. He simply wants you to be ready."

Those in the Citadel lived in nearly constant fear. Long ago the Priestess Mana predicted a great calamity falling onto the city, one that only great and powerful magicians could overcome successfully. Endymion had stepped up, in his youth, to learn magic and teach others. Now that he led the city and reached the pinnacle of his power, he worried that it would not be enough. What if he was gone when the attack finally happened? Suitable successors needed to be found. They needed a steady supply of people who could wield similar skills and fight. He would not live forever. The priestess had left her own magic behind - a literal pool of energy, both weapon and protection in the form of an invisible shield around the city - and it was the source of Endymion's visions. In them, he saw the chosen. It revealed all those in the city who were capable of learning magic.

So there he was. Training and powerful but sad - never good enough, in spite of it. None of this was The Magician's fault. The two of them constantly trained. If nothing else, Mahaad would never have improved without help.

"If this is what it takes to be ready," he replied, "then we will not survive."

"You're simply tired," The Magician told him. Lilting voices sounded more soothing than ever, a choir of lullabies rumbling beneath his words. "Come. Tomorrow, we'll study."

"We always study."

The night did not welcome Mahaad. As though to punish him, his sleep was filled with phantoms and memories he did not quite remember. A land filled with sand, great evil - and the purpose to fight it. That dream was not quite a story, filled with gaps and holes of things he felt he may have done but couldn't determine with certainty. None of the characters looked like him, and he couldn't place them to any book he had ever read. When he told The Magician about these dreams, the response was a frown but nothing more.

"Did anything look like the Citadel?"

"No."

The voices seemed to flutter in their tones this time, as though they were deliberating with each other. "Are you sure?"

"There was just sand and some monstrous Dragon creature - it was evil, but nothing like anything we've seen here."

Everyone knew that such animals were extinct. The best they could do even as magicians, was perhaps summon the spirit of a Dragon to act as a combat familiar. It was incredibly hard to do, and took time and patience beyond measure.

"I'll confer with The Master about it. But later. For now, I have promised you study. And your nightmare does not seem to be prophetic in nature."

For hours they practiced. Mahaad tried to defend himself with the elements, working runes and sigils with his hands to strengthen them. His shield of water became ice, shroud of smoke became living flame, earthen defenses to metals and a gale became a storm, streaked with lightning that could be hurled at foes for extra cover. With The Magician, such a thing was easy; he didn't feel quite the same pressure for success and furthermore, it never felt like a personal reputation was at stake. Mahaad was just a student, learning like any other, and that helped him concentrate.

The two of them sparred after and in that he was less competent. But The Magician had been personally trained by The Master for years, to be able to defend without his magic. There was a lapse in their mastery. But there was also no expectation to overcome - simply to match and improvise enough to cope with changes in style or approach. Honestly, Mahaad thought The Magician perhaps greater than The Master in combat.

Between these and other lessons, brushing up on other pertinent ones, he was almost allowed to forget his failure as the day passed on. While The Magician was present he felt not good but adequate. There was improvement. But the absence of their Master was telling all the same - there was disappointment, true and deep, and it would not fade until Mahaad showed just how far he had come.

On this night, there were no dreams - only unrest. He could not sleep. A part of him expected to simply be pulled from his bed during the night and thrust into battle, deprived and unprepared. It would not be the first time a drill had taken place at night. As he sought slumber, however, a noise began to drift down the hall. It echoed against the walls, foreign in its tones, but it was familiar - the Magician's voices. A single spell bubbled to the surface of his mind and without further thought he dressed, preparing for battle just in case. The cacophony of voices was out of sync - it sounded as though his companion were in pain. Footsteps echoed in the hall and, cautiously, Mahaad listened for voices. If nothing else, the babble outside was of those who were confused.

The guards, he surmised, and not a threat. He heaved a sigh of relief. There were no sounds of combat happening outside of the door - no waves of magic disturbing the air.

"Dark Magician!" one howled at him as he emerged from his room. "Stay in your quarters!"

They spoke his title as though addressing a child, and he did not like it one bit. That was _not_ his name.

"Don't even think of it!" another voice, louder and more confident than the rest, boomed down the hall. "Go back into your room this instant!" It was The Master, of course, to back up his guards. Not a single thing in the city happened without his knowledge, and certainly not in his own castle. Bright, glowing eyes seemed to examine Mahaad before he turned around, entered his room and closed the door.

The noises stopped soon after, but he didn't dare leave to investigate.

The next day he found himself alone. Servicemen and even the maids were discussing the previous night's episode but. However, even with what petty magics allowed him to listen to the words of others; he couldn't discern what had transpired the night before.

No one seemed to know besides The Master, who wouldn't be found unless he wanted to be.

Frustration overtook Mahaad, so he spent that day training as well. There was only room for the physical - he would not be able to concentrate on anything else. Neither was it an adequate exercise nor was it based on improvement. The apprehension that accompanied his lack of information had him shaking and struggling with exhaustion much earlier than he should have been. His movements were quick but sloppy and imprecise.

Several hours later he was kneeling, catching his breath, sword on the ground and staff against the wall.

"You're worried about your comrade," said a booming voice from behind him. "Why?"

Awful luck, of course. First the nightmares, then The Magician, and now that he was exhausted he would have to fight. There was no doubt in his mind - The Master did not show his face only for lectures.

"He was in pain," Mahaad said, "and I care deeply for him." He didn't move. If this went the same way that the other sessions had, he would be told when they would commence. Without hesitation, however, he willed a bit of protection to materialize itself in the form of a barrier.

A chuckle, almost derisive, nearly exploded behind him. The Master was close, probably concealed. Just on the nape of his neck and poised to strike.

"Rise. We will try to exercise again."

But he didn't. "Where's The Magician?"

"Perhaps if you pass the exercise, I will allow you to see him. _Get. Up._ "

A jolt of pain suddenly wracked Mahaad's body and he was forced low to the ground. He trembled with the force of whatever he was struck with - electricity, by the jittering of his fingers. Had the barrier not been in place, he wouldn't have been conscious.

"You are always entrenched in your feelings - put them to use!" The Master growled at him. "What is the point of waxing on such loyalty if you cannot protect those you care about?"

Slowly, he rolled over onto his back. The flex of muscles burned with effort - but he saw The Master preparing another attack just in time to scoot up and dodge. Now he was against the wall.

"The enemy will not halt when you are tired, Dark Magician!"

 _Yes, lightning_. This time Mahaad was ready. The shield was up; already ice, the water freezing even as it appeared in front of him. It was struck but shrugged off the blow. Blood beat in his veins with the effort to keep it up, and he was glad to have the wall to rest his weight on.

Flashes nearly blinded him, and in those instants the stone beneath him shook and broke with the impact.

"Switch, now!" The Master bellowed. "Fire!"

Mahaad did his best to concentrate, cornered as he was. Slowly in the center of his shield the ice seemed to almost melt, a heavy vapor taking its place. Quickly it faded from a thick white to deep grey, almost black - then it began to ignite. He didn't want to do this; his limbs were nearly numb and standing was not possible for him.

The Master's strikes were quickening, and his shields were weak. Forming the sigils correctly didn't matter. There was simply not enough power to sustain them. Jaw set, he put his all into powering his protection. He hated this, but The Master was right. It was his job to protect and serve and even if he didn't like it that was his destiny. That nightmare, two nights ago had frightened him. The dragon creature that he'd seen, the barren world filled not with life or flora but only sand… Mahaad did not want that to be the future. He loved the Citadel so much, was spiteful that he couldn't live the way he wanted.

Others could. And maybe, he helped to save it, he could too.

His shield was barely all aflame when The Master barked out more instructions. "Earth! Get to it! Do _not_ fail me like last time!"

Arms moving fluidly, he formed the signs. The room shook and, from the corners of his eyes, Mahaad could see the flashes all around him. This was not any sort of practice. Another strike and he would be down for the count. That could not be allowed to happen. If he and The Magician were dreaming, it had to mean that the attack was close at hand. Mahaad needed to see him. They were the two most competent magic-users in the castle, and would have to lead.

He wanted to ask the Master, _Is he all right?_ but knew he wouldn't get an answer. Instead, he put his questions, his worries, his fears into the next shield. Flames were dampened by forming earth. Bits of stone from the floor next to him, already weak from the confrontation, rose up and joined the rest. Soon enough there was a swirling mass, almost a tiny island, stretched above him.

There was a bang and this time Mahaad went deaf. Something struck too close. His shield expanded and as it formed a small dome over him, he lost sight of his Masteras well. The flashes persisted and he tried to study their frequency, but they struck too often. So he concentrated on turning the shield to its second, more powerful form. The space around him still pulsed as the earth above him clustered together and hardened, became liquid; solidified.

He couldn't afford to wait for The Master's instruction this time - he wouldn't be able to hear it. As soon as the steel shield was formed to completion, his hands were moving again, shifting it into something else. Suddenly, The Master was visible again, through a swirl of wind that nearly picked Mahaad up off of the ground. This shield required more energy, because it could be offensive too, and he was barely able to lift his head. His vision became fuzzy on the edges. There was no point in trying to read the flashes now.

With a start he realized that his arms were numb; he didn't have enough energy. But he had to show The Master what he had learned. He had to see The Magician. Just a spark - that was all he needed. Though he couldn't feel them, he could still move them. Feebly, body shuddering with the effort, he formed the sigil-

There was a flash of light, and then it all went black.

When Mahaad awoke, he was sitting up, blinking the room into focus. He could see dark shapes in front of him but when he tried to move, he could not. His entire body felt heavy, so he concentrated on his vision. He could barely move his head to see what was going on.

His body was rigid, stuck in an uncomfortable crevice, and as his eyes darted to and fro he didn't like what he saw. There was upturned, cracked and broken stone everywhere. What had The Master done?

One of the shadows loomed closer, and Mahaad prepared for the worst: he was immobile and drained of energy - of course he would be receiving a lecture on his form, on the fact that he had pushed his limits today despite knowing the likelihood of being tested. Because even with a suffering student or comrade or friend there would be inconveniences. The world would not stop for him and The Magician. It was very likely that, should their fates be to participate in defending the Citadel, neither of them would make it. They were not important in the grand scheme of things.

He would not be able to fight those accusations in this condition.

The shadow was upon him, kneeling - still fuzzy. But there was no sound, only motion, and Mahaad felt himself being picked up, pulled out of the indentation in the floor. Was he still deaf? He tried to touch his ears, to see if he was bleeding. Not possible, currently.

But The Master would never carry him like this - the man would rather a spell. As they traversed the halls, it was enough of an indicator. But without a voice, and without full vision, he couldn't confirm anything. Mahaad shut his eyes and tried his best to recuperate. It wasn't as though he could do much else, and he was not in hostile hands. Certainty only came when Mahaad was taken to his room, laid in his bed, and force fed a recovery potion. He continued to lie there, until his vision cleared.

The Magician of Black Chaos stood over him, eyes sad, brows furrowed.

"Mahaad?" a test, of course, to see if he could hear. It was comforting to listen to that chorus of voices saying his name. It had barely been a day, but the moans of pain were still freshly imprinted on his mind.

When he managed to nod in reply, he knew that the potion was working. He'd be fit in just a few minutes. His voice still grated in his throat, and he could only manage low moans.

"Quiet, while you're healing," he was told, and The Magician sounded worried. "Master has gone too far this time, all for a result. I know that you've been looking for me. And I would like to share some information to with you." In between, the different voices seemed to show varying levels of concern, some pitched up and others down.

As though it were nothing, he conjured a chair and sat. It was intangible, a thing made of shadow. And he continued.

"You do not know my name," The Magician said. It was not a question, but a statement of fact. The voices settled into level tones. "You do not know it because, unlike you, I do not have one. I have always been here, for years and years. I was born to the Priestess who made the prophecy, though Master has never told you. I am the remnants of her raw power, left after what was channeled into purity for protection."

"Rrggh," Mahaad rasped, trying to speak, but the look in his companion's eyes bade him to stop trying.

"Last night, I had my first vision. I did not think it was possible. But I saw the beginning. I saw you fighting, Mahaad. I saw what you were capable of. So he wanted to test your limits." A scowl curled up on blue lips and he added, "It was not fair."

Their Master was never fair.

"It will happen soon. No more waiting."

There was more, written there on The Magician's face, but visions were private things and the more that was revealed the more the outcome was tampered with. Mahaad didn't want to know; being told about prophecies was what tore him away from his home. He didn't care if he was going to live or die or make a difference in the upcoming war.

It was a relief to merely know that he hadn't sacrificed for nothing, and the sigh that fell from his lips made that obvious.

"You are powerful, Mahaad," he finished. "And you are at your best when against the odds. But be careful. Do not drive yourself so recklessly again."

The potion's effects spread through him. Mahaad could move, though he ached, still. His voice was raspy when he finally spoke up. "...did I... Did I pass the lesson?"

The Magician's lips quirked in a smile. "I am told you did."

He shouldn't have been relieved, shouldn't have felt a burden lifting on his chest, considering The Master's actions. That man was becoming desperate, he realized, as the time came closer - perhaps everyone else had always known the attack was near.

"Thank you for worrying about me, Mahaad. Please rest." Shadows beneath The Magician dispersed, leaving small trails of smoke behind as he stood.

Mahaad managed to sit upright, and cleared his throat, but wasn't sure what to say. If this was all true, there was nothing to rejoice about; they would all be in danger very soon. Though The Magician said that he was powerful, it was Mahaad that put his faith in the others. The Master stood so far above him, and only The Magician seemed confident enough to question or oppose him.

Unable to put the correct feelings into words, he said. "I'm glad you're alright."

Something in those yellow eyes seemed to soften before he turned toward the door. "I will be here, until the end. We will win. Don't worry. Your strength is in your heart, Mahaad. I am lucky to be in it. The Master only seeks to make you realize that."

This time, the voices seemed conflicted even as they spoken in unison. One spoke in low, sad tones; another was prideful, strong and level; yet another was calm and confident and the last, wistful and unsure. Mahaad didn't know which one to believe, or which spoke of what had been seen in the vision.

He didn't want to end their conversation on that note. Soon was not definite, and if The Magician had that much faith him, he would get better and be what was expected. That strength in his heart, he had felt it while defending himself against The Master. Purpose, the same that he'd felt in his dream, had helped sustain him. He did not care for Endymion, but he loved the life he'd never lived, and the city that he could have lived it in. Even after ultimately being defeated by their Master, The Magician had come to see him.

"I-I have much to learn still," he managed. "If we're going to be prepared. Can we study again tomorrow?"

The Magician didn't turn, but he paused before leaving. "Of course," was the answer, each voice complementing a smooth, full harmony.

{FIN}

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So… I don't actually know what this is. I just had an idea and went for it. Anyway, thanks for reading - feedback would be appreciated, of course.

I'd like to note my very good friend **SunGodHorus** , helped me brainstorm for the location that this would take place in! He was super helpful and I'm so glad I know people who know lots about the card game opposed to just the anime/manga. Thanks so much!


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